


Born And Bathed In The River Lethe

by Magnolia35



Series: the emperor has no clothes [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Bigotry & Prejudice, Fantastic Racism, Gen, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Law Enforcement, M/M, Magical Realism, Moral Ambiguity, Muggle Culture, Muggle Life, Muggle Technology, Obliviate | Memory Charm (Harry Potter), Racism, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), Wizarding World Bashing (Harry Potter), Worldbuilding, except you’re people, flawed law enforcement white man voice: lmao yoink ur rights are nil, one (1) mlm: pls sir I just want to love my bf, tfw you consider people to be sub human so its like lmao yeah do whatever you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia35/pseuds/Magnolia35
Summary: Oliver Greenshaw smiles blandly at the robed figures on his doorstep.They smile back at him. Their eyes are cold. They remind him of the sharks he watched on a nature documentary that one time right before they tore each other to bits.Oh. He’s meant to say something. He can’t quite remember what.He can’t quite remember a lot of things these days.or,the usage of the spell obliviate is deeply, and i put emphasis ondeeplymorally questionable at best.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: the emperor has no clothes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008471
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. sad gays be sad on main while magic cops are terrible at their jobs

**Author's Note:**

> warning for one (1) usage of the word fuck. also the general iffyness of memory charms. and magic racism.

There’s a boy _(why can’t he remember)_ and they share kisses and sparks and something just on the edge of his tongue _what is it-_

Oliver Greenshaw smiles blandly at the robed figures on his doorstep.

They smile back at him. Their eyes are cold. They remind him of the sharks he watched on a nature documentary that one time right before they tore each other to bits.

Oh. He’s meant to say something. He can’t quite remember what.

He can’t quite remember a lot of things these days.

Oliver Greenshaw lives with his mother. He has a job in, in- he has a job. He gets along well with his mother. He doesn’t have many friends.

So he is naturally confused when he gets an text on his phone that night with _hey hot stuff wasn’t sure what that was all about last night but you seem pretty cool ;)._

Oliver hadn’t gone out last night. He’d come straight home from work, reheated some soup for dinner and went to bed. That was what all his nights had been like for-

For.

How long?

Forever?

And something in him leads him to the streets of London, across roads and through alleyways until he comes to a dingy bar with rainbow flags littering every surface imaginable.

The bartender smiles at him sadly. “Hey Oliver. How’s your night?”

Oliver smiles back blandly, because that’s what you’re meant to do. He doesn’t know this person. “I’m afraid we haven’t met.”

They chuckle, “Same as always then. How’s Sam?”

“Who?”

The bartenders eyes crease. “Oh. No wonder he was looking so beat up the other day. I’ll grab you a beer.”

An east asian looking man comes in decorated with pink-purple-blue badges and gestures something to the bartender. The bartender places a very pink drink in front of the guy, which inadvertently causes the man to turn towards Oliver. He meets Oliver’s eyes. And gets teary. Which is awkward, because Oliver doesn’t know how to deal with feelings. So when the man sort of half-collapses into Oliver’s side it’s, uh, okay. This guy he doesn’t know is just crying into his chest. As you do. Maybe this was a thing normal people who could remember the day before yesterday do.

“Do I-“ he hesitates- “Do I know you?”

That makes the man cry harder. There’s snot on Oliver’s t-shirt but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t know why his heart is flip-flopping for this man he’s literally never met but this is okay.

“I’m sorry. I- I seem to have issues with my memory. I-“

The guy sniffles and raises his head. “‘S okay. Sorry for the uh, shirt.”

“It’s fine,” Oliver says awkwardly. “I’m Oliver.”

The guy’s smile is watery. “Sam.”

Sam’s number is already recognised by his phone for some reason despite the fact there’s no obvious record of conversation or calls between them at any point. Oliver apologises in advance for if he forgets Sam, which he really, really doesn’t want to do. Because- because Sam’s nice. And pretty, and sweet, and handsome and just Oliver really, really likes him.

And so when Sam presses a chaste kiss to his lips, Oliver’s heart flutters as he ducks out of the bar and begins to make his way home.

He notices when he’s about halfway home there’s two cloaked figures following him. Oliver hastens his step and prepares to run.

“Mr Greenshaw,” one says, “Mr Greenshaw!”

Oliver breaks into a run. There’s a choking feeling in his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s so scared, but he shouts out anyways, “Leave me- LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU FUCKING FREAKS JUST LET ME BE!”

They grab him. He screams. Kicks. Nobody seems to notice. Maybe they just don’t care. They go to some strange place with impossible things and he _doesn’t understand_. Either way he ends up in a cell for doing nothing wrong. There’s a few others in here. Even a kid, looking up at him sparingly with scared eyes.

The woman at the desk had tsked at him as they’d dragged him in, “Mr Greenshaw, that’s the fourth time this month! My, my, you’re practically looking for trouble.” Then she turns a sheet of paper into a paper canary and it flies off and Oliver wants to cry.

“I- what? I don’t know- please, just let me go!”

She sighed, “Put him in, ah- holding B, that should do fine. Make sure the squad visits him tomorrow to check for excess effects.”

So now he was here, squished between a crying middle-aged woman and a shell-shocked looking older man. A goth-looking teen with thick black eyeliner and a nose ring shuffles over to him. “Want a light?”

Oliver hesitated. “I’m, er, good thanks.”

There were tear tracks on her face too. Most people in here seemed to be in a state of shock.

It seems like hours, though it’s probably only been thirty minutes at most, before one of the figure from before opens the door and asks for Oliver.

Now they’re sitting at a desk in what appears to be something close-ish to an interrogation room and Oliver doesn’t know what he’s done.

“Name?” The question breaks him from his stupor.

“What?”

The officer glares at him, tapping _(was that a feather?)_ on his sheets of paper. “Name.”

“Oliver. Oliver Greenshaw.”

“Age?” says the officer, not looking up from where he’s reading further.

“I’m uh- twenty-two.”

“Twenty-three, actually,” said the woman from before as she ducks by them. Which was. A _year?_ They’d taken a _year_ from him? Would this just keep going? Would he be ninety-three, stooped and old and thinking he’s only twenty-two? 

They move on to stuff like height, incident _(he didn’t know, he never knew)_ and any other witnesses. _Witnesses of what,_ he’d asked, and the officer had just looked bemused and said _muggles._

“Alright, that’s all the paperwork done,” sighs the officer after what feels like a thousand questions. Another officer a table over snorts. “Don’t see why we have to do paperwork. They’re muggles. ‘S like obliviating any mundane animal.”

The officer at his table sighs, “Breeks, you’re not meant to say stuff like that anymore.”

The officer from before, Breeks, snorted again. “Alright, don’t get your wand in a twist. Anyways, Flaherty, get on with it already.”

“Fine, fine,” the officer in front of Oliver said, pulling out a stick and aiming it at Oliver.

“Wait-“ Oliver said, trying to put his hands up to protect his face- “Now hold on a minute-“

“ _Obliviate._ ”

He wakes up. Makes his bed. Greets his mother. Has breakfast.

Answers a knock at the door.

Oliver Greenshaw smiles at the figures on his doorstep as they all pretend they can’t see the tears trailing down his cheeks.


	2. sad gays no longer sad. a medical miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the exposure of the wizarding world, a list of all those obliviated under the ministry’s orders is found.
> 
> Thank god for modern medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for medical stuff (discussed, not shown) and uhh brief mention of a needle

“Hello?” he says, looking at the two official looking fellows on his doorstep. “Can I, er, help you?”

“Are you Oliver Greenshaw?”

“Ah, yes, that’s me. Can I help you with anything?”

“May we come inside?”

So now there are two men sitting at his kitchen table while his mother potters about in the other room.

“Mr Greenshaw, have you ever heard of magic?”

“I- what?”

They didn’t _look_ as though they were playing a prank on him. Indeed, they somehow looked even more serious than when they originally showed up at his door.

“We have reason to believe that you have been repeatedly assaulted and had your memories removed without your consent by members of the magical society. Do you have any way to confirm this?”

“Do I- no?”

The man on the left sighs. “Sir, we’re going to have to take you in for further discussion.”

“Take me in? What did I _do?”_

“Nothing sir, however since this is a highly confidential situation we will have to go to a more secure location. Unless, of course, you’d rather not...?”

There’s something under his skin that _itches_ , that needs to know just _what is going on._

So Oliver, probably against his better judgement, agrees.

There’s magic people, apparently. And they’ve taken months- at least months, they don’t know how long exactly but there’s just a hole in his memory- from him.

And now he’s going over possible treatments with a tired looking woman whose name tag identifies her as Doctor Susanne Yova. She runs her fingers through her already-greasy hair and taps away at her computer as she gives him the spiel.

“We have yet to find a way to fully restore memories without magical interference. There is, however, an experimental surgical technique that may be able to be used to regain some if not most of your lost memories-“

“Yes.” said Oliver.

The woman slips him a smile and says, “Well sir, we do have to go over ethical requirements to make sure you’re fully informed first.”

And they do.

They don’t just go straight to the surgery, which is apparently the option with the highest chance of success in retrieving most of his memories, something about neuron connections and the hippocampus. They need his insurance forms and a dozen other things and Oliver also needs someone to be there for him in case something goes wrong.

His finger hovers over the number for his mother’s landline.

He hesitates.

Oliver taps Sam’s number instead.

_“Oliver?”_

“Uh. Hi, that’s, yep that’s me. Erm, I don’t exactly know how to say this but I’m going to have a surgery and I need a medical liaison and I know we don’t know each other, like, at all but er-“

_“No, no, it’s fine. Uh, where do you need me to be? And when, I guess?”_

Oliver lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Uh, next week. Monday. I don’t know the address off by heart but I can text it to you. Thank you so much, if it’s too much trouble I can totally get someone else-“

_“No! I mean, no, it’s fine. I don’t have work on Monday anyways.”_

“Okay. Er. Cool, see you then. Thank you again.”

_“It’s no problem.”_

Monday dawns and Oliver’s antsy and makes sure he has a few changes of clothes and his ID. He keeps getting up to fix something, adjust something, checking his phone every thirty seconds and waiting, waiting, waiting.

A knock at the door makes him jump. It’s Sam, wearing his denim jacket and there’s two of the official fellows at his side and Sam gives him a lopsided grin and says, “Figured I’d join you for the ride.”

The ride over is quiet and they’re escorted in through a back entrance _(for security reasons, one of the officers had said)_ and Oliver’s scared because this is his _brain_ and what if they fuck it up and it gets _worse-_

Thank _fuck_ for Sam. Sam, who somehow knows exactly what to do. Sam, who whispers words of comfort into his ears and works through breathing with him. Sam who holds Oliver’s hand as they wheel him through the surgery doors even though they don’t know each other and then Oliver feels a prick and _sleeps._

He wakes and he’s- he’s _himself._ He’s Oliver Greenshaw and he can remember _fourteen months_ of stolen time and kisses and love and _Sam._

_“Sam,”_ he chokes out, _“Where’s Sam?”_

There are hands on him pushing him down and over the din there’s a voice crying _I’m here baby, I’m here_ and then Oliver slips into sleep.

Oliver wakes up to beeping. It’s annoying, but steady. He’s in a hospital? Ugh, the sunlight is _bright_. And there’s a slumped over figure in one of the hospital chairs next to his bed and that cannot be comfortable by any means.

It’s- it’s Sam. He has a patchy beard and there’s threads of grey spread throughout his hair even though Oliver knows he’s only twenty-four. His denim jacket is worn and patched and his badges have lost their newly-made shine.

“Sam,” he whispers, _“Sam!”_

“Wuzzat?” Sam mumbles, eyes opening and blinking a couple times.

Oliver can tell the moment he wakes up because his gaze sharpens. _“Oliver.”_

Oliver laughs and it’s watery because at some point he started crying and says, “Yeah, babe, that’s me.”

“You’re...?” he trails off, looking painfully, unbearably hopeful.

“Yeah,” Oliver says, “I- yes. I remember.”

Sam reaches over to hold his hand. “That’s- thank god. Me and the baby have missed you.”

“How is Moose? Is she okay?”

Sam chuckles, “Of course she is. That damn cat could survive the apocalypse and you know it. She missed you, you know.”

“She’s a good cat.”

“She’s absolutely evil and we both know it.”

Oliver laughs and they break off into a comfortable silence before Oliver properly registers something.

“You grew a _beard._ ”

“What, do you miss my pretty face?”

Oliver gave him a look, “I dunno. I mean- wait, is that a christmas jumper?”

It is. It’s that hideous, bauble decorated jumper Oliver gave him two months into when they started dating and everything about it is absolutely _horrible_ and then they’re both laughing and Sam’s gasping out, _“This is biphobia,”_ which just makes them both laugh harder under they’re both wheezing and out of breath and still prone to breaking out in giggles when they see each other’s faces.

“I missed you,” said Oliver, “So much.”

“I missed you too.”

They press their foreheads together and for just a moment all is right within the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here y’all go

**Author's Note:**

> comments. comments give me life.


End file.
